Drunk On You
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lori throws a house party and has a little too much to drink, whereupon she realizes just how great her "big" brother is. Lori x Lincoln. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. Why Not?

It's funny how our lives can change in an instant. The things that we take for granted are not forever, though sometimes they feel like they are; we spend four long years roaming the same halls and taking the same classes with the same people, but one day we walk across a stage, accept a diploma, and boom, it's all over. Lori Loud found this out first hand when she was seventeen.

Like any teenager, Lori Loud enjoyed throwing parties - music, food, dancing, and friends. Also like any teenager, she didn't particularly like her younger siblings being involved; they could _literally_ be the most embarrassing people ever. She let them come to every one she threw, though, and things had always worked out - she thought Lynn, Luna, Luan, and Lincoln were annoying, but her friends loved them, so why not, right?

Then it happened.

A cold Friday night in early November; windswept leaves danced through darkened streets and the skeletal face of the moon peered through bare, interlaced treetops like a peeping tom through a sorority house window. Mom, Dad, Lily, Lisa, Lola, and Lana were visiting Aunt Ruth for the weekend (something about a surgery - no one knew or really cared) and Lori figured she'd host a party. Again, why not?

That had become her mantra over the past year because, let's face it, she could be kind of a bitch. She didn't _mean_ to, but being the oldest and always finding herself in charge, she had to be - her siblings would walk all over her if she wasn't, something Lincoln found out for himself when he tried to take her place. _I'm the premier of fun,_ he told her with his hands on his hips and a glint in his eye (she was literally tied to a chair), _and you're the czar of lame._ Pfft. Fifteen minutes later he came back on his knees. _I couldn't even lead Cliff to the litter box, sis, ya gotta help me._ She took great satisfaction in someone _finally_ acknowledging how tough it was to keep the SS Loud House on course and _may_ have lorded it over him, but after a little thought, she felt bad; maybe sometimes she _did_ go a little overboard, so...why not loosen up?

Not _too_ much, though.

Mom and Dad announced that they were leaving on Thursday afternoon, which gave Lori just over twenty-four hours to plan - more than enough, since her parties were never huge. She'd invite her friends, they'd listen to music and hang out, and that would be that.

Only she didn't count on one thing.

She was standing at the kitchen counter filling a wooden bowl with chips when the first guests arrived, her friends Dana and Becky; Dana held a covered dish in her hands and Becky a plastic grocery bag. They came in and sat their things on the counter.

"Hey, Lori," Becky said and lidded her eyes. "I brought something _special."_ She drew the last word out in a playful singsong.

Lori rolled the chip bag, tossed it aside, and grabbed a box of cookies from the cabinet. "What?" she asked over her shoulder.

Grinning, Becky pulled a twenty-four pack of Smirnoff Ice from the bag. "Refreshments."

"Seriously?" Lori asked sharply. "My brother and sisters are gonna be around, and you brought _alcohol?_ "

Lori wasn't a prude or anything, she drank from time to time, but she'd specifically forbidden her friends to bring that or weed to her parties. If it was just her and them, fine, but it wasn't: It was Lucy and Lynn and Lincoln and everyone else. She didn't think any of them would snitch her out, though she didn't put it past any of them to use it for blackmail fodder. _Give me a ride to the cemetery or I'll be forced to tell Mom about the raging kegger you threw last week_. That aside, she was still in charge, which meant she couldn't drink, and there's no feeling worse than hanging out with a bunch of people drinking and having fun while you can't. Except maybe for being really horny and sitting next to your best friend and her boyfriend on the couch as they make out and you have no one. Yes, Lori had been there before, and no, it wasn't very fun.

Presently, Becky rolled her eyes. "It's just a little Smirnoff. Will you lighten up?"

Lori opened her mouth to speak ( _excuse me, young lady?)_ but stopped herself. Maybe it was her newfound liberalness...or maybe it was the self-doubt that inspired it ( _am I too much of a stuck up bitch?),_ or maybe it was something else...but she sighed in acquiescence. "Fine," she said, "but...do _not_ give any to my brother or sisters."

"We won't," Becky drew, and Dana smirked.

When Lori jammed her finger at them, they both jumped. "I mean it. If you get one of my siblings drunk, I'll beat your ass."

"We won't, jeez," Beck said defensively, "I was only playing."

Umhm. Better have been.

Shortly, other kids started arriving, and before long the living room was packed. Lori stood at the counter and stared through the half wall like an architect watching her plans come to fruition. Becky appeared next to her, a bottle in her hand. "Great party, Lori," she shouted over the music.

"Thanks," Lori said, her chest swelling with pride and satisfaction. She splayed her hands on the counter and bent forward. "I'm pretty great, aren't I?"

"You sure are," Becky said and took a drink. She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle, which she held out to Lori. "You've _earned_ this."

Lori's eyes darted hesitantly from her friend's face to the proffered bottle and back again. "No," she sighed sadly, "I can't. I'm in charge, I have to make sure things don't get crazy."

"Oh, come on," Becky said, "we're not gonna tear down the house if you have one drink."

No, maybe they wouldn't; she was more worried about her siblings. She was responsible for them and she had to be in peak mental condition in case they needed her.

She scanned the room and found each of them like a mother sitting on a park bench and looking for her kids in a writhing mass of children: Luan told jokes to a semi-circle of kids; Luna sat on the arm of the couch and strummed her guitar; Lynn and some guy in a beanie and a sleeveless green jersey kicked a hacky-sack; Leni sat next to Chaz and prattling about God knew what, her hand waving and her eyes dancing with a happy light; Lucy read from a book of her poems; and Lincoln stood by the TV talking to Dana and a few other kids and being funny by the sound of their laughter.

"Loosen up," Becky said and nudged Lori in the side with her elbow.

Well...they _were_ good kids and self-sufficient too. Plus, it was one drink; it's not like she was going to get sloppy falling-down drunk. "Fine," she said with a faux long-suffering sigh. "You peer pressured me into it."

Becky grinned as Lori took the bottle. "Atta girl."

Lori giggled. "Just one, though."

"Alright," Becky said with a wink, "just one."

Holding the bottle in her hand, her palm slick with condensation, she had one last burst of doubt, but shoved it away. Becky was right. She needed to loosen up - she was seventeen and sometimes she acted more like a mother than a teenager. Her brother and sisters would be fine even if she _did_ get drunk.

Which she wasn't going to.

She twisted the cap off and took a long drink.

Just one, she said, but one became two, and two became four; warm wool swaddled her brain and the floor began to mysteriously pitch like the deck of a ship in a rough swell. She held onto the counter and laughed when Becky, loose herself, started dancing to the music, her head whipping back and forth and her hips gyrating. "You _literally_ look like an epileptic," Lori said.

"Shut up, bitch," Becky laughed, "I look hot." Her reddish hair veiled her face and the center of her body rolled hypnotically. Lori took a drink and swayed. She felt good, really good, and she kind of felt like dancing too, but she wasn't _that_ far gone, lol.

At some point, Dana stumbled in and slapped the counter to get her balance. "Hey, Lori," she drew thickly and leaned heavily against the edge, "awesome party."

"I know," Lori said, closing her eyes and basking in her well-deserved praise.

Dana turned and gazed into the living room - kids danced, drank soda from red solo cups, and shoveled snacks into their faces. Leni and Chaz were missing, and Lori briefly wondered if they were doing something somewhere. Oh, I better go look and -

"So," Dana said, "your brother."

"What about him?" Lori asked. Did he do something wrong? She looked around and spotted him playing beer pong with a bunch of guys. Well...soda pong, but you get the idea.

Dana shrugged. "He's...he's kind of cute." She bowed her head and giggled girlishly. "And funny."

"Yeah, he's -" her words cut off when she realized what Dana was saying. Lincoln? Cute and funny? Lol. "He's also a kid."

"I know," Dana said, "But he's still cute."

Really? Lincoln? Her brother? He's, like, eleven, and my brother, it's impossible for him to be 'cute.'

She squinted through the haze of her drunkenness and studied him, trying to see him as Dana did. To her, he was her little brother and nothing else, not even really a boy, like...he existed apart from that, you know? Same with her father and grandfather. They were all men, but she didn't see them as men, she saw them as Dad, Pop-Pop...and twep.

In the living room, Lincoln tossed a ball and it landed in a cup, his buddies cheering him on. He smiled cockily and held up one hand. _I know I'm great, gentlemen, no need to applause_. He looked like a bunny rabbit, with his cowlick and chipped teeth, and his arm muscles were beginning to tone with puberty. For the first time, she noticed that his face was thinner, his features a touch more rugged, his baby fat suddenly gone. Wow, when did _that_ happen? He opened his eyes and grinned smugly.

Okay, yeah, well, she guessed she could see where a girl, even one her age, would think he was cute. He also had a presence; when he walked in the room you were drawn to him. Charisma, it was called. And he _was_ funny, even if he was a giant dork about it. Smart, too; kind; gentle; considerate. He always helped her when she needed it, and if she or any of her sisters were down, he took it upon himself to make them feel better.

"Yeah," she heard herself saying, "I guess he _is_ kinda cute."

Dana nodded. "Umhm."

"He's also nice and kind and helpful and tender and loving." Her stomach began to flutter as she spoke, and her cheeks grew hot. Lincoln backed away from the table and watched with crossed arms as another boy took a shot, the ball bouncing off the rim of the cup. Her eyes darted from his freckled face to his chest, and as he uncrossed him arms, to his hands, his fingers long and slender. She imagined how it would feel to thread hers through them, and a electric jolt plunged into her heart like a lightning bolt from the heavens.

Dana took a pull from her bottle and sighed. "I really like him," she said, then turned, her eyelids drooping boozily, "is he single?"

For some reason, that question was like a buzzsaw in the pit of Lori's stomach. "No," she said quickly. "He has a girlfriend."

That was a lie. He did not.

Dana hummed. "She's really lucky." She pushed away from the counter and swayed. "I need to pee."

When she was gone, Lori took a drink and watched Lincoln play - her stomach ached and she felt warm all over. Dana was right. Any girl who wound up with Lincoln was lucky - he was _perfect_ boyfriend material.

She lifted the bottle, but it was empty.

Time for another.

After that, she lost count as roaring good will filled her skull and her buzz consumed her. The whole time, she thought of Lincoln, rolling him slowly through her addled mind like a wine snob rolling 1898 vintage over her tongue, and as she watched him, she stared to feel even warmer, especially between her legs. You know who he reminded her of? Bobby. They were both sweet and cute and dorky but in a good way. Bobby moved, though, and that made her _real_ sad because she liked Bobby a lot. She still had Lincoln, though. What a good brother. Did she ever show him her appreciation? She didn't think so. She was all _you're a twep, you can't come to my party_. What an asshole. He was really cool and she acted like he was the plague or something.

Well...forget _that_. She was going to go give him a big hug and a kiss in front of _everyone._ Look, guys, I love my brother. He's awesome. Jealous, huh?

Grabbing her sixth or seventh bottle from the counter, she started into the living room, her steps clumsy and unsure. Dana backed into her, and she almost fell over. "Move it or sister lose it," Lori grumbled and pushed her away. Lincoln was standing by the TV with his arms crossed and his back to her, talking to Lynn. Lori smiled as she swept over and snaked one arm around him from behind. He tensed, but relaxed when she spoke - guess he thought she was someone else, lmao. "You're a good big brother," she slurred. She _knew_ he was her _little_ brother, but _big_ came out and felt better on her lips. Lynn arched her brow and smirked, her head shaking slowly from side to side, which kind of made Lori mad. _Look at her! She's drunk! How dare the captain cut loose for one time. Pfft._

Ignoring her, she drew Lincoln close and took a swig. "Thanks," he said guardedly, "you're a good little sister."

Lynn snickered.

Was Lori weird for feeling all tingly when he said that? _Little sister._ She always kind of did want an older sister...someone she could go to when she had problems of her own, someone to look out for her the way she looked out for everyone else, someone to teach her and guide her. A big brother was good too, though; a sweet, kind, cute big brother with muscular arms and a cocky smile. A big, strong brother to hold her through those cold, lonely night and show her things...like how to use her body.

A pang rippled through her core and she giggled. Leaning over and pressing her lips to his ear, she rubbed a slow, sloppy circle against his chest, her palm tracing the outline of his developing muscles. Her breathing caught and her center pinched. "I like when you call me that," she said huskily.

Lynn's brow furrowed in confusion and Lincoln turned his head, craning his neck back and away. "Uh...yeah." He laughed nervously. "It was a joke because, you know, you...you accidentally called big brother and...and I'm not."

He tried to extract himself from her grasp, but she held tighter, resting her chin on his shoulder and flattening her breasts against his back; he was firm but soft, and warm, and smelled _sooo_ good. Clean and fresh and like boy. She took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, imagining she could taste him. Her heart started to slam and her pussy trembled as if in anticipation; she could feel it slickening, readying itself for him. Lincoln's forehead crinkled and he looked at her as though she was literally the strangest thing ever. "You're really cute."

"Alright," Lynn said and took a step forward, her hand going up,, "Lori, you need to go lay down, you're drunk."

Lori shot her a withering glance, and she fell back. "I'm not drunk," she said, "I'm telling Lincoln how much I like him. He's a good brother. You should s-stop picking on him."

"I don't pick on him," Lynn said defensively.

Lori held Lincoln tighter, protectively to her breast. "Yes you do. You call him Stinkcoln and...and make fun of him."

" _You_ came up with that name!"

Did she? "Well, now I'm done."

Lynn's jaw clenched and her eyes flashed. Lori gestured with the bottle. "Go bully someone else, football head."

"Screw you," Lynn said tightly and brushed past, her ponytail swishing angrily from side to side.

Lori watched her disappear into the crowd and shook her head, then turned to Lincoln. "I'm sorry I called you Stinkcoln," she said and touched her lips to his cheek, drawing his scent and taste in, her fingers dancing over his chest. "And twep. You're not those things." She kissed the side of his face, and a shiver went through his body. He broke out of her arms, taking his heat with him; she was suddenly cold and so alone she could cry.

"L-Lori, you really _do_ need to lay down," he said. His cheeks burned crimson and his limpid brown eyes were misty as if with distant smoke.

She took a drink, realized the bottle was empty, then dropped it onto the floor. See what I mean? He was concerned for her - such a good big brother. "I'm okay, Lincy," she said thickly and stood to her full height, shoulders slumped and head hung. "I just want to show you how much I love my big b-brother."

Despite the gravity of the situation, one corner of Lincoln's mouth turned up in a sardonic grin. "I'm not your big brother," he said patiently.

Lori giggled and flattened herself against his body, her fingers running through his snowy white hair. "We can pretend," she said. He stared up at her in shock, his mouth open in a perfect O and his his eyes wide. Lori giggled again and leaned in, her forehead bumping his, their gazes locking, his breath filling her mouth and making her heart race. "You're so cute." She tilted her head and moved in to kiss him; Lincoln simply gaped, unable to move or even to think.

Her lips grazed his, then she was being dragged back, her heart leaping into her chest and her arms flying out; her feet tangled, and she tripped, but didn't fall. Flashing, she whipped away and spun on her heels. Lynn and Luna stood side by side, Lynn with her arms crossed and Luna with her hands on her hips; they wore matching glowers. "You're going to bed," Luna said. She grabbed Lori by the arm and started dragging her toward the stairs.

Lori tried to yank her arm away, her teeth clenching. "Get offa me, bitch,"

Lynn grabbed her other arm and together they guided her to the steps; Lori realized everyone was looking at them, but she didn't care. They were taking her away from Lincoln. "Fuck you," she slurred and thrashed. Luna grimaced and pulled harder.

"Knock it off, Lori," she said, "you're acting like a fucking idiot."

Sudden vertigo burst in her head, and all she could do was allow herself to be taken away, sparing a longing glance over her shoulder at Lincoln, who stood in the middle of the living room, jaw slack, eyes ten times their normal size.

He was _literally_ the cutest thing ever.


	2. Conflicting Emotions

**MrNonsense: We still have a ways to go. Plenty of time for a lewd to possibly happen. If you wanna see cute, fluffy romance with no sex by yours truly, check out** _ **Once in a Lifetime; Dark as Night; and Be My Valentine.**_

 **Bass Huntet: You, sir, should be writing this story, not me.**

 **shadow Shinobi1988: Just Brock and Abyss? And here I was hoping for a challenge.**

* * *

Lori lay in the middle of the bed with her hand pressed to her achy head, the room spinning; if she didn't hold onto the covers with one hand, she'd fly off and break her neck, so she clung with all her might, her fingers clutching like hooked talons. The overhead light was off, but warm amber light from the lamp on her nightstand provided faint and short reaching illumination. She glanced at the clock, but the numbers were a bloody red smear: She squinted her eyes and discerned that it was 11:45. Or maybe 45:11.

Ugh.

She felt like garbage. You know what would help? A hot shower. Those always made her feel better. She tried to get up, but fell back to the bed with a laugh. Ooookay, then, never mind _that_. "I'm so drunk," she told Leni, even though she knew Leni wasn't in her bed. She was bunking with Luna and Luan _to give Lori space_. Lol. That was _craaaaap._ They thought she was going to do something to her, but she wasn't Lincoln, so Lori didn't give a FUCK.

A slow, sleepy smile crossed her lips at the memory of holding him close, breathing in his scent, and running her fingers over his rippling chest. Oh, God, she was so turned on for him. Deep in the alcohol steeped folds of her brain, she knew it was wrong, but it didn't _feel_ wrong, and that's all that matters. Why not? That was her catchphrase, her motto, her Bible verse of the day. Why not?

Why not run her hands slowly over his body and kiss his lips? Why not straddle him and rub her crotch against his until she came undone and shook with orgasm?

She laughed and rubbed her legs together; the insides of her thighs were slick with arousal and her core bubbled like a sinful witch's cauldron - come stir it with your paddle, Lincy~ She cupped her breast in her hand and tweaked her nipple through the fabric of her tank top, her eyes narrowing and her teeth brushing her lower lip. Ummm. It _was_ wrong...and dirty...and shameful, but that made it so much better.

 _I'm thirsty._

She reached out, but there was no bottle on the nightstand. Pffft. "Stupid!" she cried. She'd get up and get a drink from the kitchen, but she couldn't walk, lol. She slid her hand down her stomach and slipped it into the her cargo shorts, her hips rocking as her fingers traced the outline of her sex through her sodden pantes. She was _sooooo_ horny. God. It was literally crazy. If she had Lincoln here, she'd massage every square inch of his body, then kiss it too, letting her lips linger on his warm, fragrant skin, starting with the soles of his feet and ending with his sweet candy lips. Then she'd let him do the same to _her_. He was a virgin and she doubted her got anywhere with Ronnie Anne, so it'd be his first time touching a girl, and for some indefinable reason, that was so hot she could melt.

She was a virgin too, though, so it'd be her first time as well. Her big brother could teach her how to make love, and she could teach him what a little sister looks like when she cums - face flushed, eyes narrowed, sweaty bangs hanging in her eyes, chest heaving, head thrown back, lips pursed. Ummmm. And how would _he_ look? She imagined his eyes rolling back into his head and his breath catching as her walls squeezed him and coaxed his boiling load out from his balls and into her thirsty well.

Panting now, she rolled her hips against her hand, humping, grinding, thrusting, her heels digging into the bed and her mind scattering as heat filled her stomach. She arched her back and bared her teeth; the room spun faster and she suddenly felt very queasy, like she was going to be sick. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and her eyes flew open. Uh-oh. Swallowing, she pulled her hand out of her shorts, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and got to her feet, stumbling against the nightstand; the lamp rocked sickeningly but didn't tip. Her head spun, and she threw up her hands to balance herself. Okay. Wow. This is literally crazy.

Taking baby steps, she crossed the room, opened the door, and staggered into the hall - the light was off and all the doors firmly closed, glow shining under cracks here and there. Lori's stomach turned, and her hand fluttered to her mouth. Oh, shit, I'm gonna puke. She hurried into the bathroom, threw on the light, and sank to her knees before the toilet. The seat was down but all that good cheer from the party was coming up fast and -

 _Splat!_

Clear liquid sprayed the seat, the lid, and the tank. It was hot, bitter, and reeked like booze: Bowing her head, she slammed the lid up and puked again, blood crashing against her temples and chunks splashing the bowl, water droplets flying back and hitting her in the face. Oh, God! She splayed her hands on the rim, smearing her hands in thin, greasy vomit, and more shot from her mouth like a geyser.

 _I'm never drinking again._

She rocked back on her knees and hung her head, waiting to see if she was done of if she was going to throw up more; tears of exertion filled her eyes and hot, pulsing pain pushed against the inside of her skull.

When she was sure she was good, she got to her feet and swayed, one hand going to her cheek and slipping into her tangled hair. She looked at the mess and groaned. She'd worry about it in the morning.

In the hall, she rested against her door frame and closed her eyes - wonder if I can sleep right here, standing up. She swallowed and grimaced at the lingering taste of Smirnoff. It was a whole lot worse coming back up than it was going down. The first time it was fruity and nice, the second it tasted like battery acid.

Her stomach twisted and for a terrible moment she thought she was going to be sick again, but it passed. She should go to sleep; she'd feel better in the morning. She hoped.

Pushing away, she shuffled into the room and sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands going to her fevered face. Lol, I'm so drunk. She started to lay down, but froze when she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, and her heart burst.

Lincoln stood in the doorway, wearing only his socks, underwear, and a worried expression on his wan face. "H-Hey," he said.

* * *

There's a poem by T.S. Elliot called, Lincoln thought, _The Wastelands_. It contains the line: _This is the way the world ends...not with a bang but a whimper_. For some reason, that stanza occurred to him as Lori's party guests filed somberly out the door, some of them drunk, others just bummed. _Alright, assholes!_ Luna called from the bottom of the stairs after she and Lynn sprinted Lori away; the chatter died and every head turned to her like she was Christ and the Second Coming was at hand. _Party's over._ Her commandment was met with a chorus of disappointed groans, but everyone left without protest: Lynn and Luna stood by the door, both glaring and looking as though they'd bite your head off if you made trouble, so no one did. The only hiccup, if hiccup it can be called, was Dana, Lori's friend; on her way out the door she stopped at Lincoln, who sat on the couch with his face in his hands in the most obvious expression of dejection one could ever _not_ hope to see.

"I had a good time tonight," she said, and Lincoln looked up. She smiled drunkenly.

"That's nice," he mumbled. Why was she telling _him_ this? It wasn't his party, and frankly, he had a _lot_ on his mind at the moment - Dana Jurgens was the _last_ thing he cared about right now.

She stared at him for an awkward moment and chewed her lip like it was a Twix and she was meditating _very_ deeply on something. "Do you, like, wanna hang out sometime?"

The realization that she was asking him out slammed into him like a sledgehammer booby trap, and he sputtered. Before he could turn her down, Lynn called out from her station by the door. "Let's keep it moving!"

Dana threw her head back in frustration and sighed. "I'll text you." She gave an exaggerated wink, then she was gone, leaving Lincoln alone, his confusion even heavier than it was before; he'd never been drunk, but he imagined the way his head spun was pretty darn close.

How was she going to text him, anyway? She didn't even have his number.

Well, she _could_ get it from Lori.

At the thought of his older sister's name, Lincoln's body tensed and his heart sank into his stomach. His mind flashed back to the party, to her hot breath caressing his neck and her fingers skimming his chest, to the heart stopping sensation of her soft breasts smooshing against his back. He started to stir, and a burst of shame burned across the back of his neck, killing his erection in the cradle.

He didn't realize someone was standing over him until they spoke. "You okay, Linc?" He looked up, and Lynn forced a tight, sympathetic smile. Luna waved the last guest out the door and closed it, turning to the living room and frowning at the mess: Cups and soda cans littered the coffee table and the floor; chips, crackers, and cookies were ground into the carpet; empty bags and packets were strewn about like flotsam in the wake of a shipwreck.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice leaden.

Lynn sighed and sat next to him on the couch. "She was just drunk. S-She didn't mean anything by it." She reached out to touch him, but thought twice and pulled her hand back. Less than twenty minutes ago, one of his sisters touched him in a _very_ unsisterly way, so right now, she must have figured, he might be a little skittish.

Her concern genuinely touched him, but it wasn't Lori he was worried about.

It was him.

Steepling his fingers against his nose, he took a deep breath. "I'm fine," he repeated. "I get it, she was _really_ drunk, it-it doesn't bother me." He could sense his sister's incredulity. "Much," he added.

"I'm sorry," she said, a hint of pain in her voice. "She shouldn't have done that, Linc, and when she sobers up I'm gonna ream her a new asshole."

Lincoln shook his head. "No, it's fine. She was drunk. Like you said. She didn't know what she was doing."

Lynn favored him with a sad look, then hazarded touching his shoulder. He smiled and patted her hand. "I'm just glad you guys came along before I had to roundhouse her in the head."

Snickering, Lynn punched him in the arm. "That's my bro."

When she was gone, Lincoln's smile faded and he covered his face to hide the guilt he was sure blared across his countenance like a headline in bold. **EXTRA! EXTRA! MY SISTER TOUCHED ME AND I LIKED IT! READ ALL ABOUT IT!**

A cold shiver raced down his spine. Lori was drunk, so she had an excuse...he, on the other hand, was stone cold sober, in his right mind and not intoxicated, influenced, or otherwise in an altered state: He was normal, average, everyday Lincoln.

And he _liked_ what Lori did to him, liked the way she dragged her nails lightly up hs chest and panted against his neck, like an animal in heat; liked her calling him cute; liked the way she breathed in his scent as though it were the most fragrant perfume she had ever smelled; liked the feeling of her body heat and her arm around him. He liked it so much that he started getting hard, which is why he pulled away, and when she moved in to kiss him, her nose brushing his, her eyes lidded and simmering with lust...God help him, if Lynn and Luna didn't drag her off, he would have kissed her right there in front of everyone.

His own sister.

Wincing, he got to his feet; he needed to take a walk or something, clear his head. Luna, Luna, and Luan were picking up the living room, and when he called out that he was going out, none of them tried to stop him.

Outside, the night was blustery and cold, and for a moment he considered going back in for his jacket, but decided against it: Nothing sobers you up like the bitter cold, and while he hadn't been drinking, he was nevertheless inebriated...drunk on Lori.

God, just the thought of it made him feel icky, like his entire body was lightly coated in slime. Descending the stairs, he called up a vision of Lori's face. _Sister...that's your sister. Maybe you were mistaken but just look at this. Refresh your memory. See the family resemblance? Looks a lot like Mom, doesn't she?_

Ugh, yes. She did. Lincoln had seen many pictures of his mother as a teenager, and Lori favored her so greatly it was almost uncanny. In fact, if you looked at Mom and subtracted some of the...extra (he couldn't bring himself to call her _fat_ ), BAM, Lori.

Even so, his skin tightened at the lingering memory of her touch, and her husky voice echoed though his head like the fresh, clean hiss of summer rain. His dick twitched and he froze, on the sidewalk now, to will it asleep. Dude...get ahold of yourself; you're acting really gross.

Right. It's just...a girl had never touched him like that before, and over the past few months, as his body dragged him kicking and screaming into the depths of puberty, he found himself wanting one to, aching for it as he sat in class and fought to ignore the delicate faces, long, soft hair, and budding beasts surrounding him. At night, alone in his room, he masturbated into socks, underwear, and whatever else he could grab while imagining a girl running her hands over his body the way Lori had, a satisfied smirk on her pink lips and wicked delight in her eyes.

The same expression Lori wore at the party.

Shudder.

That's where his mind was, at any rate, so yeah, something like _that_ was...you know...bound to affect him. Tomorrow, after sleeping (and pounding) it off, he'd see things a whole lot clearer, and he'd realize that nope, he wasn't some kind of sister loving freak hillbiilly - he was just a normal kid who got excited over a girl touching him. Really, that's not even all that bad. _Everything_ gave him a boner these days: The way his pants rubbed against him as he walked; Cliff purring in his lap; a stiff breeze; being shot in the face and beaten about the midsection with a crowbar. It was miserable.

Simple biology. Nothing more, nothing less. Hey, he got hard over Cliff, it didn't mean he wanted to have sex with him.

He was two blocks over now and feeling a little better, so he turned around and went home, hands shoved deep into his pockets and teeth chattering. Streetlights cast murky pools of illumination across the sidewalks, and the needling wind pushed dead leaves across his path, its voice roaring in treetops like the frustrated sigh of an angry deity. _I have seen your incest lust, Lincoln Loud, and I am_ not _pleased._

I'm sorry! It was just my body! I-I-It started responding, I couldn't stop it! Excuse the hell out of me for bleeding out from a gunshot wound, amirite?

Heh.

Ten minutes later, he walked through the front door, his face flush with cold and his arms raked with goosebumps. The living room was empty and clean - you'd never be able to tell just by looking at it that there was a party here less than an hour ago. Lincoln shut the door behind him, locked it, and went upstairs, hesitating before snapping the light off. No calls of _hey!_ Or _I need to_ see! came, so he figured everyone was setted for the night.

At the top of the stairs, Leni popped out of seemingly nowhere and his heart rocketed into his throat. She was in her nightdress and carrying in pillow under one arm. "Hi, Lincy!" she cried.

"Hi," he jerked, his eyes darting to the pillow. "Where, uh, where you going?"

Leni blinked in confusion, then smiled. "Oh, I'm having a slumber party with Luna and Luan since Lori's drunk and tried to molest you."

Wince.

"She might, like, try to do the same thing to me, so…" she shrugged. "See you tomorrow!" With that, she turned and minced into Luna and Luan's room, closing the door behind her, leaving Lincoln in semi-darkness.

 _...tried to molest you._

Those four words stuck him like a shiv to the guts. For one, that's not how it went, she was drunk and didn't know what she was doing. Saying she tried to molest him made it sound _sooo_ much worse than it really was. Lynn was the one who first pointed out that Lori didn't mean anything by it, so she and the others didn't really look at it as her trying to rape him, right? For two...there's a saying Poppa Wheelie used all the time. _You can't rape the willing._

And Lincoln was _more_ than willing.

In his room, he stripped out of his clothes, tossed them into the hamper, and climbed into bed. It was past eleven by the clock on the nightstand - he wanted to drop into blissful unconsciousness, but he already knew sleep would not find him. He had too much on his mind.

Letting out a deep breath that did little to dispel the dark pressure in his chest, he leaned over, opened the nightstand drawer, and pulled out a comic. He'd read for a little while and distract himself, then _maybe_ he'd be able to sleep.

For fifteen minutes he stared at the first panel, reading and rereading the dialogue bubbles but failing to retain any of it - like a ship drifting off course, his thoughts returned again and again to Lori; her warm, fleeing touch; her smoldering eyes; her bleary-but-salacious grin; the way she bit her bottom lip as she leaned unsteadily in to kiss him, her mouth coming closer, closer, her nose rubbing against his and her breath filling him, intoxicating him, making his knees weak and his stomach roll. He threw down the comic and tossed his head back with a groan of consternation, Lori's face following, her blonde hair sweaty and tangled. _I like when you call me little sister._ God, why did that make his breath catch? Why did _that_ specifically turn him on? He'd _never_ looked at his younger sisters that way, and he honestly didn't think he was about to start, but the image of Lori as she was in middle school - small, thin, just beginning to develop curves and breasts as she passed the threshold of womanhood - and lying in bed, her hair pooled around her head, chewing her lip and trembling in need for him, her big, strong older brother…

He swallowed thickly and balled his shaking hands. Alright, well, looks like getting her off his mind wasn't going to work. Great. Lovely. Fantastico. He glanced restlessly around the room as if in search of salvation, and his eyes landed on Bun-Bun, his once beloved rabbit, sitting on the dresser and watching him with cold, black eyes. Why'd he still have that thing anyway? He was eleven, far too old for stuffed animals, and honestly felt no attachment to it whatsoever. "What do I do?" he heard himself croak. "I'm sitting here...thinking about my own sister and…" he trailed off, unable to vocalize his emotions, to speak them and give them power. If he had, he would have said: _And not caring that she's my sister._

The fact that his blood relation to Lori didn't bother him bothered him _greatly_. Lori was like a...not really a second mother, but there was a certain dynamic between them that was akin to a parent-child bond. Oh, she was an asshole sometimes, but while she annoyed him, irritated him, and even outright pissed him off, deep down, he knew he could count on her...knew she would protect and guide him. He felt safe with her, at ease. She was...she was his big sister.

And thinking about her this way should feel alien...disgusting...unnatural...if not because they shared the same blood then because they shared such a sacred family bond.

Nope.

Three hours ago, he'd never once thought of her as anything more than a sister (unless you count _bitch,_ he'd thought of her that way a few times), but now, after a touch and a husky whisper, he could see himself French kissing her and _he freaking liked it_. That told him that these _new_ feelings weren't new at all - they'd always been there, just hiding or stuck to an anterior wall, waiting to be dislodged like a deadly blood clot.

He looked at Bun-Bun again, but the rabbit offered no assistance or advice. Turning away, he bowed his head and took a deep breath. _Alright, fine, I'm...I'm into Lori. My sister. And her being my sister doesn't even gross me out._

There.

It was out.

Articulated even if just to himself.

Now...what was next?

Nothing, he decided, nothing was next. He'd put it out of his mind, feel awkward around her for a few days until he got used to his emotions, then things would go back to normal. Right now, he needed to sleep on it.

Returning the comic to the top drawer, he stretched out and started to reach for the lamp, but realized he had to pee. At least I wasn't under the blankets. He got up, went to the door, opened it...and came to a screeching halt. At the end of the hall, the bathroom light was on and Lori knelt in front of the commode, her head bowed and long, miserable moans drifting forth. She rocked back on her knees and let out a pained sigh.

As far as Lincoln knew, puking after getting really drunk was normal, but even so, a tight band of anxiety squeezed his chest, and worry flooded his stomach like black ice. Gripping the rim of the toilet, Lori got woozily to her feet and turned; Lincoln's heart clutched, but she didn't look in his direction - she leaned against the doorframe, rested for a moment, then disappeared into her room.

Lincoln stared after her, frozen, his heart slamming.

Maybe he should check on her.

Just to make sure she was okay.

Yeah. That's why.

Swallowing, he went down the hall. At her room, he peeked his head though the doorway - she sat on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands, her slender, French tipped fingers threaded through her silky blonde hair. Lincoln's throat went dry, and in that moment he knew exactly why he came here, and it had nothing to do with checking on her.

He wanted her to touch him again.

A rush of self-loathing went through him, and he started to back away, but Lori's head turned, and her drooping eyelids shot up. A hammer of dread struck his center and his lungs withered in his chest. "H-Hey," he said dumbly.

Lori's expression was blank, and bitter disappointment stole over him. She was over it, apparently, over _him_.

Then she grinned.

"Hey, Lincoln~"


	3. A Moment of Weakness

**MrNonsense: I just realized I never answered your question. Apologies. The Loud House is the only show I like enough to write fan fiction for, though I did do something for The Walking Dead. I've had a few ideas for fics based on movies. Maybe I'll write one soon.**

 **Nuuo: I actually have a Danacoln oneshot that I will post at some point in the future. It's similar to this story in that it involves alcohol. It was written just before Drunk on You, if I recall.**

* * *

Lincoln's heart blasted against his ribcage and his stomach throbbed as though he were about to be sick. Lori propped her elbow on her knee, rested her chin in her upturned palm, and leaned unsteadily forward, her eyes half lidding and the corners of her mouth curving up in a slow, lusty smile. He expected her to speak, but she didn't, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Even before the words were out he was frowning, the taste of the lie bitter in his mouth; pretending to care, to be worried, like a good brother when in actuality he was a piece of shit who was only worried about himself.

"I'm _great,"_ she slurred, then brightened, "why don't you come and sit with me?" Her eyes twinkled with mischievous light and her smutty smile sent ripples racing through Lincoln's stomach.

 _She's drunk...and you're taking advantage of her._

His brain sent marching orders to his limbs: Stand down and retreat. Somewhere along the way, though, his body misinterpted them, and, almost against his will, he went to her, sitting stiffly beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. Smiling happily, she turned to face him, one leg slipping underneath, lifting her a few inches; she laid one hand on his bare arm and the other directly over his pounding heart. The heat of her touch soaked into him, spreading through his body like fire. "I missed you," she said thickly and began to stroke his chest, her nails lightly scratching his flesh and sending goosebumps up and down his arms.

"I missed you too," he said earnestly.

Giggling, Lori rested her forehead against his temple and moved her hand over his stomach, rubbing a wide, sensuous circle. Her hot breath puffed against his cheek, and his dick started to inflate. "You're a good big brother," she said and giggled again. She pressed her lips wet lips to the side of his face and drew a deep breath through her nose, reveling in his warm scent.

"You're a-a good little sister," he said. He stared straight ahead, hating his own guts but loving the way she petted his stomach and kissed his cheek, aching for her to go farther and hoping, on some level, that she wouldn't.

She laughed and kissed his cheek, one hand moving down his stomach and the other raking through his hair. "I like it when you call me that," she said, as she had earlier. She skimmed her lips to his ear. "It turns me on."

Lincoln's heart skipped a beat and his dick jerked against the crotch of his underwear. "It turns me on too," he confessed.

Lori smiled against his ear and caressed it with her tongue; Lincoln winced a little, unsure if he liked it or not. " _You_ turn me on," she panted and glided her hand lower, her fingertips brushing the waistband of his underwear. "I wanna have _sex_ with you."

When she cupped him through his underwear, he gasped and reflexively arched his hips, grinding against her hand. Her breathing quickened and she kissed his jaw. "Do you wanna have sex with me?"

This was it.

His last chance to back out and retain at least a modicum of self-respect. He turned his head to face his sister, their eyes meeting. She wasn't in her right mind, didn't know what she was doing, but he was so hard it hurt and God help him, he didn't care. "Yes," he breathed, and fused his lips to hers, his tongue darting out and clumsily massaging hers. She hesitated for a surprised moment, then took his face in her hands and kissed him back. He turned and grabbed her hips, drawing her body roughly against his; she lost her balance and fell onto him, knocking him back and pinning him to the bed, her breasts squishing against his chest and the heated juncture of her thighs pinching his erection, making him gasp into her mouth. He slipped his hands under her shirt and stroked up her naked back, his hips lifting in a wave-like motion and prodding his dick into her crotch.

She tilted her head left, then right, her tongue reaching far into his mouth and swirling, lapping at the back of his throat and curling against the roof. Lincoln wrapped his lips around it and pulled back - Lori grunted and sighed deeply. Drawing away, she stared down at him, her muddied eyes flashing with lust. She clutched the sheet in both hands and ground herself against his shaft; pleasure burst through him like shattering glass, and he arched his back with a wavering moan. Lori, panting, favored him with a lopsided grin. "You gonna fuck your little sister?" she asked and placed a hungry kiss on his lips. "Ummmm you gonna make her cum?"

"Yes," he moaned, "I'm gonna make you cum so hard."

Lori jammed her tongue into his mouth again and thrusted in long, smooth strokes, her feverish heat increasing until it seeped through her shorts and his briefs in sickly waves. Lincoln slipped his hands into her hair and guided her back until they were both on their knees, then lowered and mounted her, his knees between her thighs and his hands slipping under her tank top, splaying on her taut stomach and brushing up, over the bottom of her ribcage and the swell of her pert breasts, scraping her rigid nipples. Spasms wracked her body and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close; his bulge speared her crotch, and both of them moaned.

"You gonna fuck me, big brother?" Lori purred, her fingers tracing his chest and her body undulating under his touch.

He rubbed her breasts firmly against her frame and kissed her chin, her velvety throat, her cheek, then her lips, licking her tongue and sucking her bottom lip into his mouth as he pinched her nipples. His skin was hot and he trembled slightly with desire. "Yes," he panted into her mouth.

Humming, she arched her back and hooked her thumbs into her shorts, her head tilting away and exposing her throat; Lincoln attacked it with urgent kisses, tongue, and teeth, nipping her flesh as animal passion overcame him. Reaching down, he grabbed her panties and slowly pulled them over her hips and down her thighs, pausing to savor the musk of her excitement. She moaned in the back of her throat and lifted her butt. In the spill of light falling from the lamp, she was soft, pink, and glistening, her Y-shaped apex bare save for a strip of coarse blonde hair.

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Lincoln reached out and touched it with hesitant fingers. A low _hmmm_ issued from Lori's throat, and she spread her legs wider; perfumed heat broke across his face and wafted into his nose. She smelled so good, and with the abandon that comes only with teeth-clenching, eye rolling arousal, he took a deep whiff, drawing her scent in and rolling it over his tongue like fine wine. His dick quivered like a divining rod sniffing water, pushing against its cotton prison in an attempt to escape and investigate the source of the heavenly fragrance, her hormones triggering his, the scent of woman tripping primal sensors deep in his brain - _fuck her, mate her, breed her, put a baby in her stomach noooooowwwww._

Shaking like an alcoholic in the midst of _delirium tremens,_ he slid her panties down the rest of the way, over her knees and along the smooth, creamy plain of her calves, over her ankles, her feet, her wiggling toes. For a moment he held them in his hands, gaping at them like a man at a winning million dollar Powerball ticket, then lifted them to his nose. They were warm with her heat and dripping with her aroma.

She giggled and pressed her toes against his chest. "Smelling your little sister's underwear," she slurred, "you're a pervert." He looked up at her and she smiled seductively. "Do I smell good?"

Lincoln gave a jerky nod.

"Come here," she said and wiggled her finger.

Okay!

Tossing her underwear aside, he crawled up between her legs, his hands moving along her legs and tracing the well of her hips, pushing the hem of her tank top up over her perky breasts and her light pink nipple. His dick pulsed in anticiation, and when she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, he sucked a sharp intake of breath.

"You gonna put it in me, big brother?" she asked and slid them down a fraction of an inch.

Lincoln's heart slammed harder. "Yes," he whined.

"You gonna break my _hymen?"_ she asked playfully and rippled under him, her naked sex kissing his aching member through cotton walls, her fluids soaking the fabric until it clung damply to his shaft. "Make your little sister a _woman/?'_

He nodded. "Yes."

She yanked his underwear down, her eyes widening and her smile sharpening when he popped out and raked across her quivering lips. She stared up at him with dark eyes and a knowing smirk, his beautiful, naughty little sister: So young, so precocious, so ready~

"I feel you, big brother," she half purred, half slurred and ran her tremoring palms over his chest. She spread her legs as far apart as she could and giggled. "Can you feel me?"

He could: Her sultry heat was blistering and her skin so soft. Her lips wrapped around his head and the very tip slid through the slick valley between them, oozing precum and mixing their juices to form something new, something special, something _dirty_. "Y-Yes," he said and pushed against her, the friction maddening, drawing him close to the edge of insanity. He didn't know where the entrance to her garden lie, but he didn't care - he just needed a little more movement. He bowed his head and mindlessly rolled his hips; the tips of their noses bumped and their hot, ragged breaths mingled. She ran her hands over his face and shoulders, drinking in the shape of his body and the warm, living sensation of his sizzling flesh. He pressed his lips to hers, and their tongues grappled furiously, desperately, licking, lapping, massaging, their bodies moving together, their hearts pounding the same staggering beat.

The kiss broke and Lori arched her back, her body sliding wetly over his, making him dizzy and drunk. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, could only shake and wince with the power of his need. Lori giggled at his distress and lovingly stroked his cheek, her teeth nibbling her lower lip and her face blazing with color. ""I always wanted a big brother like you," she said thickly and sighed, her eyelids fluttering close. "To love me...protect me... _teach me._ " A dreamy smile crossed her lips and she swiveled her hips, her moisture gliding along his shaft like warm morning dew. "And I'll be..." she swallowed, "your slutty little sister." She snaked her hand between them, wrapped her fingers around his dick, and brought it to her leaky opening, then pulled back and threw her arms around his neck, drawing him close; his tip slipped a fraction of an inch in and his spasming hands clutched the sheets: She was a bubbling pool of hot lava and the way her virgin muscles closed defensively around him made his knees quiver.

"You're there, big brother," she whispered into his ear, "just push…push into your little sister."

Pressing his forehead to hers, their noses rubbing like two sticks igniting a fire, her breath rolling into his mouth and steeping his brain, Lincoln threw his hips forward, sinking deep into her boling center. Lori yelped and lifted up, taking him to the hilt; her nails dug into his flexing back and her toes curled against the sheet. "Ooooh, fuck," she hissed. Her walls stroked him like wet satin, and her natural lubrication burned his shaft like hot honey. "Fuck me," she panted, an edge of urgency in her voice. "Fuck me, Lincoln."

Lincoln found her lips and claimed them as he began to rut, her knees resting limply against his hips and her pelvis lifting into each one of his forward drives; their tongues danced a frenetic waltz and their fingers twined, his chest rubbing against hers and the heels of her feet knocking against his butt on every backswing. He pinned her hands against the mattress and went faster, their lips breaking contact and Lori's head curving back into the pillow, her sweaty blonde hair pooling on the blue fabric of the pillowcase and her working throat bared for kisses: Her skin was salty and good, and Lincoln sucked greedily as he pounded into her. "Fuck, God, fuck, God," Lori chanted in a broken whisper. "You're so fucking big."

Lincoln nipped the flesh of her vulnerable throat and squeezed her hands, his hips flying back and forth, her walls rippling against him, her tight, sinful body squeezing his shaft as if to draw his cum out and suck it deep into itself. He kissed the underside of her chin, her jaw, her ear, drilling faster, his saliva smearing across her skin and his teeth clamping on her shoulder. She hissed, raked her nails down his back, and threw her legs around his waist. "Faster...faster...fuck me faster, daddy."

Drawing back, Lincoln thrusted roughly forward, his pubic mound slapping hers with a meaty _thwack._ She ripped her hand from his grasp, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled his face to hers; their gazes held as she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and rolled it between her teeth. He yanked away and kissed her, sucking her tongue and thrusting faster, harder, deeper, his center tightening as his orgasm ballooned against the walls of his stomach and started to fill his expanding dick like bullets loading into the chamber of a gun. He froze to save himself, his back bowing and his teeth gritting - it slammed against him like a storm driven surge, threatening to knock down the levees and flood his little sister's passage. Lori threw her hips up and swiveled, her nails biting into his flesh. "S-S-Stop," he stammered.

Instead, she did it again, and he swelled against her walls. Lori's eyes widened and she drew a pained breath through her teeth. "P-Pull...P-"

Shaking like a keg of dynamite ready to blow, Lincoln cried out and exploded, his eyes narrowed to slits as his load gushed from his body and splashed through Lori's insides like a deadly tidal wave. She jumped with a yelp, then convulsed as her own climax broke, sending hot sharpnel tearing through her body. "Oh, fuck!" she gasped. Lincoln thrusted again, the second spurt overfilling her; cum, his and hers, oozed out around his length and dripped down the bottoms of her butt cheeks like sap down a tree trunk. She grabbed his forearms and held tight as she rode the ebb and flow of her orgasm, a look of rapture upon her face - eyes closed, lips pursed, head tilted slightly back, a woman basking in the warm brilliance of spring sunshine after a long, dark winter. Lincoln pulled back and stroked forward one final time, spearing to the opening of her cervix and delivering the last shot straight to her womb.

Then it was over: He held himself up on shaky arms, his head bowed and his breathing short, his dick still buried in his sister like Excalibur in English stone. The curtain of lust fogging his brain quickly parted, and he realized with drawing horror what he'd done. Lori's eyes opened a crack, sparkling like the surface of moon-dappled ponds, and she smiled sleepily. "You came in me." She giggled and swept her feet up and down the backs of his legs. "You're gonna get your little sister _pregnant_."

Cold dread filled Lincoln's stomach.

His sister.

Pregnant.

With his child.

His _rape_ child.

Trembling with a caustic mixture of terror, shame, and remorse, Lincoln pushed away from her and staggered to his feet, his half-erect member swinging like a murderer's ax, a silvery ribbon of his pervert seed dripping onto the floor. Lori propped herself up on her elbows and squinted at him. "What's wrong?" she mumbled.

Lincoln tried to speak, to reassure her, but nothing came. How could he reassure her when he practically just raped her? "I-I gotta go," he said and turned quickly away, unable to even look at her; she was drunk and vulnerable and he took advantage of her, his own sister, someone he was supposed to love and protect the way she loved and protected him. Instead, he victimized her.

Like the piece of shit he was.

And, God help him, _he'd do it again._

Fleeing naked into the hall, hot tears of shame and self-hatred welling in his eyes, Lincoln Loud discovered something about himself: He wasn't a nice guy, as he'd always thought. He was a predator, a deviant, and if Lori let him, he'd fuck her again and again and again -

Until she really _was_ pregnant.

If she wasn't already, that is.

By the time he reached his room, he was sobbing and biting his lower lip to stifle the sound. In _her_ room, his little sister, warm with his cum, which even now dibbled from between her legs, rolled onto her side, hugged her pillow to her chest, and dropped into the deepest sleep she had ever now.

And she was smiling.


	4. The Thin, Gray Light of Morning

**A.T. Gunn: Thank you. I really appreciate that.**

 **Guest: Those are some interesting ideas. I'll keep them in mind for the future.**

 **STR2D3PO: I've actually never seen that movie, but it sounds like it'd be fun regardless.**

* * *

Lori Loud swam slowly from the depths of unconsciousness like a woman rising from the bottom of a dark sea, her brain crackling with life, faint at first, one lighting synapse igniting another until her head was alive with activity, nerve endings registering everything from the warm sunlight bathing her to the dull, throbbing ache above her right eye. She stirred slowly and drew a deep breath, her forehead crinkling at the foul taste in her mouth, as though a baby skunk had used it for a potty chair. One lid fluttered open, and then squeezed closed at the stinging barrage of golden light spilling through the window. _Ummm. No._ She tried to roll to her other side, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over her, and her stomach threatened to heave. _Nevermind._

Nuzzling deeper into her pillow, she sought the embrace of sleep once more, but it pulled away, leaving her alone with her rapidly thawing mind. She remembered the party, the drinking, the...she shied away like a timid little girl from something monstrous. It remained, however, heavy and impacted like shit in a colon. If she didn't brush the dirt away from its edges, it would stay half-buried just a while longer - long enough for her to fully wake up and come to terms with the knowledge of what she did last night.

A hot, furnace-blast breeze swept through the desert and uncovered a little more. Her heart clutched and she squeezed her eyes closed against the blinding light of realization: It bathed her lids, but she could not see it directly - if she could, she would go insane and die, her face melting and her hair turning snowy white, just like -

A dagger blade of horror plunged into her stomach and twisted, cutting the thought off before it could fully form. She swallowed against a sandpaper throat and hugged her pillow tighter, as if for comfort, but it gave her none, and nothing ever would again no matter how long she lived or how hard she looked.

 _It was just a dream,_ she told herself, _it didn't really happen._

Only she knew that it wasn't and that it had, knew it as well as she knew the layout of the house, right down to all the little nooks, alcoves, and crannies. Visions flashed across her mind like a slideshow in hell: Lincoln's face hovering inches above hers, his eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched; the side of his neck as she lapped it with her tongue and grazed it with her teeth; a look of mind-bending horror on his face as he turned away from her and fled.

Her heart burst like an egg and a million tiny baby spiders of filled her body; a strangled moan escaped her throat and blood crashed against her temples in throbbing waves, making her headache worse and worse until it burned like hot coals in the center of her skull.

She hurt Lincoln.

Oh, God, she molested him.

Tears welled in her eyes and she was powerless to fight them back; she buried her face in the pillow and wept bitterly, her shoulders shaking and her back hitching. The look in his eyes - what she took to be hurt and betrayal - made her cry even harder. She tried to recall details, but her memory was disjointed, images looming forward from the fog like strange and threatening shapes. Her hugging Lincoln from behind at the party, his muscles tensing in alarm; her shoving her tongue into his mouth and the muffled sounds he made - probably him begging her to stop; her calling him _big brother_ and telling him how she'd always wanted an older sibling (which she had). Everything else was a blur. She could have done any number of terrible things to him, could have ignored his tears and broken _Lori, please, stop_ s, could have even bitten him, scratched him, drawn blood as she took what her intoxicated body wanted.

She hoped not. It was already bad enough - his big sister, in whom he trusted, raped him, possibly traumatized him - adding physical wounds made it so, so much worse.

In her many, many years as an older sister, she'd taken advantage of her siblings in many ways, but never like this - you can come back from making your little sister do your laundry in exchange for a ride, but you can't come back from running your brother down like a gazelle and violating him as he cried for you to stop.

 _He's gonna hate me,_ she thought, and she sobbed out loud. She loved him...she didn't wear it on her sleeve, but she loved him and everything about him - how kind and considerate he was, how responsible and mature, how he'd give you the shirt off his back. He meant so much to her, and she fucked it all up - no matter how much she plead for his forgiveness, and no matter how many times he gave it to her, what she did would hang always between them like a black cloud.

She was still crying when the door opened and someone came in; her body locked up and cold dread dropped into her stomach like a chunk of ice. He must have told on her and now her sisters were here to confront her...maybe even to beat her to within an inch of her life.

And she would deserve it.

Heavy footsteps approached the bed and stopped; Lori could feel eyes boring into her, and her skin began to crawl. For a moment she was frozen in indecision - should she turn and face the music or play possum and avoid it for a little longer?

She swallowed hard and turned to look over her shoulder, a hammerhead of fear striking her heart when she found Lynn and Luna both glaring at her, Luna's arms crossed over her scrawny chest and Lynn's hands on her hips, her teeth bared in a snarl that reminded Lori of a vicious dog seconds before lunging at a hapless throat. Darting her tearful eyes from one sister to the other, Lori steeled her resolve. She did something terrible last night, and she would own up to it.

"We need to have a talk," Luna said, her voice tight.

Before Lori could even open her mouth, Lynn jumped in. "What you did last night was really fucked up."

Lori's stomach twinged and she lowered her gaze. "I know," she mumbled and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I didn't mean to."

"You practically raped Lincoln," Lynn accused, and Lori's heart shattered. Practically? I _did!_

Luna shook her head in disgust. "I understand getting shitfaced and acting dumb, but grinding up on your own brother like that...man, that's _way_ outta line. What was going through your _head?"_

She opened her mouth, but couldn't bring herself to say out loud. _That he was cute...and kind...and just like Bobby...and that I wanted him to be my big brother._

That last one surprised her but at the same time didn't. As the oldest in the family, the burden of helping raise her siblings, of looking out for them and helping them, had always fallen to her. Her brother and sisters looked up to her, leaned on her, went to her when they needed help or advice. Who did she have to turn to? No one. Mom and Dad, maybe, but there are things you don't go to your parents with, things that are too embarrassing or awkward, things they can't, or won't, help you with. Growing up, she wished for a big sister of her own, someone _she_ could lean on, someone to listen to _her_ and guide _her._ She never really wanted an older brother per se, but the thought of one snuggling her in his big, strong arms, the comforting heat of his body melting away all the fears, worries, and insecurities that she was forced to hide _because her younger siblings looked up to her_ *was* kind of nice.

"I-I don't know," she said, still not able to look Lynn or Luna in the eyes. "I just...I was so drunk. I didn't mean to hurt him." Her voice broke on the last word and she started to cry again. "I didn't mean to hurt my little brother." She rolled onto her side facing them and pressed one hand to her eyes; grief washed through her and she brought her knees to her chest. Her anguish was made worse by the stark realization that while she didn't mean to do what she did, she meant what she said - he _was_ cute, he _did_ remind her of Bobby, and while he wasn't an older brother, he _was_ kind of like one. She flashed back to the night before, to a snippet of sensation lingering in her body like a scream - Lincoln's dick stimulating her inner walls - and a shiver shot down her spine like a ball of electricity.

She regretted hurting him.

But she did not regret the way she felt...and the way he made her feel.

"I'm a wreck," she moaned, "a pervert, disgusting fucking wreck."

Lynn and Luna exchanged a worried glance, and their features both softened. Lynn regarded her oldest sister with a frown, then perched on the edge of the bed and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "It's fine, Lincoln's okay, just...probably weirded out. I mean, he looked kind of upset after what you did at the party but he fronted like he wasn't."

 _What about what I did after,_ she tried to say, but the words came out in a choked sob instead.

Luna stared at Lori for a second, her inner conflict clear on her face: She wanted to be pissed, but she didn't want Lori hating herself or anything. How she acted was kind of a big deal but not something she deserved to hate herself over.

Finally, she sighed and knelt beside the bed, her hand resting next to Lynn's. "Look, you just did something stupid, okay? It's not the end of the world, but it's also not cool." She wanted to add more, to point out that Lincoln was not only her brother but her _little_ brother, a kid, and that when Mom and Dad aren't home, Lori was in charge, making her the de facto caregiver. How she acted toward him was gross in general, but really screwed up when you factor in the relationship dynamic. She imagined how she'd feel if Dad did something like that to her, and frankly, she thought it'd be the scariest thing ever. Lori had always been like a third parent to them, and parents have a special responsibility to their children. The way she acted with Lincoln last night was the most profound type of treachery a parent, scoutmaster, youth pastor, or older sister can ever display.

She didn't, though; Lori was in enough pain as it was... _because she already knew._ "Lincoln's okay," she said, "but you need to go talk to him."

At that, Lori's stomach dropped. "I-I can't," she said; neither of her sisters saw, but her eyes widened with fright as she spoke. She couldn't face him, not now, and probably not ever; if she tried and he shied away like a kicked dog, she'd start crying and never stop. He was such a beautiful boy...and she scarred him for life!

"Well, you have to," Luna said. "That's not something you just let go and sweep under the rug."

No, it wasn't, but what was the alternative? Stare it in the face? Look deep into the heart of your own darkness and see your reflection, twisted and grotesque? Look into his eyes and see the pain she caused him, the emotional turmoil?

She couldn't. She just couldn't.

"She's right," Lynn said, "you gotta talk to him and make sure he knows everything's okay."

It wasn't, though! Nothing was okay! He was either going to be a scared, shaking wreck or he was going to hate her! She was _sure_ that there was no in-between.

Suddenly she wanted to be alone, away from everyone, away, even, from herself. "O-Okay," she said just so they'd leave, "I-I'll talk to him."

Luna rubbed her shoulder. "Good."

No.

It was _not_ good.

* * *

There are many things in this world that cloud one's judgement. Alcohol, for example, or money, the pursuit of power, hunger...and arousal. In the dictionary, the definition of the word _aroused_ is: To evoke or awaken a feeling, emotion, or response. _John was aroused to anger by the results of the 2016 presidential election; Marge's suspicion was aroused by the lipstick on her husband's collar; Lincoln was aroused and took advantage of his older sister in a time of weakness._

In short, there are different forms of arousal, and all of them have the potential to obscure your decision-making abilities...none more so, Lincoln imagined, than sexual arousal. When he was turned on, he found it hard to think clearly - the insistent fire in his loins, if left unchecked long enough, would consume everything in its path until extinguished. When he was turned on, all of his focus went to either stoking that fire or putting it out, and the longer it burned, the brighter it became. He assumed everyone was the same, but maybe they weren't, who knows? The point was this: He allowed the fire to engulf him...and then raped his older sister.

Sitting up in bed as thin tendrils of morning light crept into the room, his knees drawn to his chest, Lincoln stared blankly at the door, his mind awash in a tide of dark thoughts and his chest aching with sharp, cutting emotions: Fear, self-loathing, disgust, bitter regret, and shame - shame for what he did to Lori and shame because if he thought too much about it, he'd get hard.

Presently, as the house began to stir with activity, Lincoln blotted his leaking eyes with the heel of his palm and took a deep, labored breath. Sooner or later, he thought, he'd have to go out there, have to face Lori. In a way he hoped she didn't remember what happened the previous night, but in a way he did; the enormity of his burden was too great to carry and to hide. If she didn't remember, he'd break down and tell her.

 _She wanted it, though,_ a voice spoke from the back of his head.

That doesn't matter. She was drunk. She didn't know which way was up and which was down.

 _So were you...your judgement was just as screwy as hers._

Well...you could technically say that was true, but at the same time, Lori's brain was stewing in mind-altering toxins and his was not. He may not have been thinking clearly, but he was with it enough that he should have known better. His judgement was clouded, but he could see through the fog well enough to navigate...he simply chose not to. He went into Lori's room last night knowing damn well what could possibly happen...wanting it to happen...he sought it out and took it not by force but by deceit.

Or something.

He didn't fucking know.

Blinking back a fresh crop of tears, he thought back to the look of rapture on Lori's face as he filled her, her eyes closed and her skin glowing in the midst of her climax - he'd never seen a woman more beautiful, and his heart ached at the memory. He longed to reach out and touch her, to brush his thumb over her pink lips and kiss the tip of her nose; he wanted to hold her hand the way he did when they were having sex, to feel the comforting sensation of her fingers threaded through his, to feel her squeezing and _needing_ him.

He loved her as a sister and he was so fucking ashamed of himself he could crawl into a hole and die. After their time together, though...he thought that maybe...maybe he felt something else, something a boy shouldn't feel for a girl who shares his parents. Every time he called up a vision of her face, his stomach felt like it was being raked by a thousand tiny claws, and his heartbeat staggered like a wino missing a step. He'd only ever felt that way about two girls in his life: Cristina and Ronnie Anne. Girls he liked...girls he wanted to kiss...girls he thought about when he masturbated late at night.

And that made him feel ten times worse about what he did. If you love a girl, as a _girl_ or as family, you don't swoop in when she's loopy and out of her head and stick your dick in her. If you love her, you help her to bed, hold her hand, then, when she's asleep, you set a glass of water and a couple aspirin on the nightstand for when she wakes with that inevitable hangover. Which route did _he_ take? It sure as hell wasn't the latter.

What a scumbag. He didn't make a habit of being down on himself, but when the going gets tough you find out what you're really made of, and last night he discovered that he was made of slime. And dirt. And predatory instincts.

Sigh.

Okay. Lincoln Loud is a piece of shit confirmed. Now what?

His stomach gurgled.

The logical first step, as he saw it, was to talk to Lori; see if she remembered or not, and go from there.

He tried to imagine how _that_ would go, and in every scenario, she was either so angry she hit him or so upset she wept into her hands. _I can't believe you would do that to me, Lincoln._ Each vision was like sandpaper grating his soul, and he came close to tears at the thought of her turning her back on him in disgust, cold silence and disdain between them where there had once been warmth and love. He'd deserve it, though; he'd also deserve it if she slapped him across his face. He'd even deserve it if she told Mom and Dad and he wound up in therapy or something.

 _But she liked it! She was drunk but that doesn't mean she didn't want it!_

Well, sure, but again, she wasn't in her right mind. Her wanting it, though, was kind of beside the point: She was at her weakest, and he, knowing this, went into her bedroom to exploit that.

 _You were pretty weak too._

Lincoln sighed.

For a long time, he sat where he was, listening to the muffled sounds of the house waking and beginning its day. The light spilling through the window grew brighter, stronger, and by the time it was 8:30 per the clock on the nightstand, he was filled with restless energy. He _needed_ to talk Lori, but, God, he didn't want to - he'd rather shove nine inch nails through each one of his eyelids than face her. He made a huge mistake, though, and he had to own up to it.

He steeled himself, then got up and went to the door, pausing with his knob on the handle and taking a deep breath.

The hall stood empty, the bathroom door slightly ajar and the light off. He looked left and right as if for danger, then slipped out like an anxious field mouse emerging from its burrow. This was his home and had been his entire life, he knew it and was comfortable here, but now he felt exposed and vulnerable, and as he made his way toward the end of the hall, he had to resist the urge to _scurry._ At Lori's door, his stomach tossing and turning, he came to a shuffling stop and looked up at it as though something terrible lurked beyond. To be fair, it did.

His guilt.

 _You made this mess, asshole, now you have to clean it up._

He knew. He knew all too well.

Balling his hand, he took a deep breath and knocked. When she opened the door, he'd smile, say _Hey, Lori, can we talk?_ and, if she didn't punch him in the face of break down crying over his betrayal of her trust, they could...well...discuss what happened.

He waited a minute, then knocked again. When she didn't answer, he started to turn the knob, but hesitated, visions of Lori clawing his face off the moment he poked it in dancing wickedly through his head. He doubted that would happen, though: She was probably still passed out - maybe he should leave her alone.

And dwell a little longer.

Let it eat him alive as it had been all night.

Turning the knob, he eased the door open and tentatively pressed his face to the crack.

Her bed was empty and neatly made, the pillow resting atop the blanket.

Letting out a pent up breath he didn't know he was holding, Lincoln drew back and shut the door. She was up...and about...either blissfully unaware of what transpired the night before, or biding her time before coming to him.

Laughter drifted up the stairs, and something about how normal it was struck him as endlessly grotesque.

He should hurry back to his burrow and stay there until he was forced to acknowledge what he'd done. Instead, he forced himself down the stairs, his feet heavy as blocks of concrete. He paused at the bottom, shoulders slumped and head hung; his sisters' voices found his ears from the dining room, typical Saturday morning chatter. He could see them sitting around the table with bowls of cereal in front of them, joking and roasting one another like they did every morning. Except Lori. She sat at the head with her arms crossed protectively over her chest and her gaze downcast.

Because of him.

Some brother, huh?

Forcing himself on, he went into the dining room, his face starting to burn and his heartbeat increasing until it filled his head like the pounding of drums...drums signalling the approach of something evil. He stole a glance at the table...saw Lynn and Luna, Luan, Lucy, and Leni.

He did not see Lori.

Nor did he notice that the chatter died as soon as he walked into the room; he caught movement from the corner of his eye and glanced over to find all of his sisters staring at him. Maybe he was just seeing them through a prism of guilt, but he thought he saw accusation in their eyes. He turned quickly away and toward the kitchen, only to freeze when he came face-to-face with Lori - she was coming out with a plate in her hands, and when she saw him, she, too, froze, her eyes widening and a look of horror crossing her face.

For a moment they simply gaped at each other, their sisters looking from one to the other and back again, then Lori whipped her head away and went over to the table. "H-Hey, Linc," she said and sat the plate in front of Lucy; he noted that she pointedly did not look at him.

She knew.

She remembered what happened.

He didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. At least he didn't have to explain. _Hey, sis, last night when you were drunk off your gourd, I_ kind _of raped you._ On the other hand, she was already mad at him - he could feel it.

"H-Hey," he said and glanced at his feet.

"I made pancakes," she said and turned back to the kitchen in a swish of blonde hair. Her voice was flat and not entirely steady. "I'll fix you a plate."

He nodded. "Thanks."

She disappeared into the kitchen, and despite all of the guilt in his chest, the disgust, self-loathing, shame, remorse, and everything else...he looked at her butt.

Across the table, Lynn spoke and he started. "You okay, Linc?" Her voice was soft and filled with concern. He glanced at her, then away, sure that if his eyes lingered, she would see the rapist within.

"I'm fine," he said and sat in the empty chair next to Lucy. He tried to think of something to add, something to really sell the lie, but nothing came. Lynn and Luna both stared at him with worried expressions while Leni happily ate her pancakes, her eyes crossed in concentration.

Beside him, Lucy turned and regarded him with a total lack of emotion. "You don't look fine," she said, "you're paler than I am."

Luna and Lynn's gazes were heavy, stifling, and he squirmed a little. "I'm joking," Lucy said.

"Yeah, no one's paler than her," Lynn added with a contrived grin, "she's so white, she thinks milk is spicy."

Next to her, Luna grinned, but it did not touch her eyes - they were going through the motions, trying to lighten the mood. Lori must not have told them. As far as they knew, he was unnerved over her antics at the party. "She has a face like a piece of loose leaf paper."

Lori came in, bowed her head, and sat a plate in front of Lincoln. "Here," she said.

"Thanks," he said to the pancakes.

For the briefest of moments, she lingered as though she wanted to say something, then turned and hurried back into the kitchen. Lincoln fought the urge to look after her and looked at the plate instead - light, fluffy flapjacks drizzled with maple syrup and topped with butter. He normally went nuts for these things, but today the very smell turned his stomach. It'd look bad if he didn't eat, though; Lynn and Luna were already worried, and him picking at his food would only make things worse.

Picking up his fork, he carved a piece off and shoved it into his mouth. It tasted bland, like cardboard.

Across the table, Lynn took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "You wanna ride bikes later, Linc?" she asked. "I was thinking of going to the park."

"Maybe," he said. His eyes darted to the kitchen threshold when the sink cut on. Was she going to hide in there the whole time, making excuses and finding busy work to keep from having to look at him? He'd rather she yell, slap him, and make a scene in front of everyone than cower in fear...like he was a monster...like he was going to hurt her.

Again.

Tears welled in his eyes and blinked them away.

"Or you can help me with this song I'm trying to write," Luna offered. "I'd ask Lucy, but she'd turn it into a Lovecraft thing or something." She chuckled nervously.

"Probably," Lucy agreed.

Lincoln hacked off another piece of pancake and forced it past his lips, his ears acutely tuned to pick up any sounds from the kitchen (soft weeping, perhaps?). He heard only running water and the hissing scrape of steel wool against metal as Lori presumably scrubbed a pan. "Maybe," he said. He wasn't going to do anything until after he talked to Lori, and whatever he wound up doing would probably involve tears and feeling like a piece of shit, not bikes or song lyrics.

"We can hit up the arcade," Lynn said casually, as though the two of them going to the arcade was a normal Saturday afternoon occurrence. It was not; Lynn thought video games were dumb and the people who played them were basement dwelling geeks who jacked off to Princess Leia or something. If she was offering to go to the arcade with him, she must be _really_ worried about him. _Poor Linc, Lori perved him and now he's acting skittish._ Little did she know, he perved Lori so much harder it was sickening.

"I'm probably gonna go hang with Clyde," he lied, fighting to keep his voice even. "I have to call him, though."

Lynn nodded, and he thought she was going to keep pressing, but thankfully she backed off. When he was done with breakfast fifteen minutes later, Leni and Lucy drifted off, but Lynn and Luna remained, even though they'd both been done since shortly after he sat down.

Staying for moral support, maybe, or as bodyguards?

"I'll take that in the kitchen for you," Lynn said; before he could protest, she reached over the table and grabbed his plate. _I'll take it in there so you don't have to be around Lori._

His stomach clenched and he felt like he was going to be sick. "Thanks," he said and got up, fleeing before either she or Luna could stop him. In his room, he shut the door and dropped onto the edge of his bed. He hung his head, sighed, and raked a hand through his hair. He couldn't blame Lori for staying in the kitchen - he just wished she came in and sat down. He really wanted to see her and make sure she was okay.

Yeah, because you were so concerned with how she was last night.

He rubbed firm circles into his temples and struggled to clear his mind, but it didn't work: Lori haunted it like a phantom, her smile, her smell, the sounds she made as he thrusted into her, the look in her eyes, the taste of her kisses…

As soon as he could, he decided, he would going to corner her and apologize. She might not want anything to do with him after this, and he could understand that, but he needed to tell her how sorry he was...and maybe even how he felt. _I love you, Lori - I don't know if I did before I sexually assaulted you, but I sure do now._

He barked harsh, humorless laughter and shook his head. Good one, Linc. You're a smooth guy, you know that? It's almost like -

Someone knocked on the door.

There's a story called _The Monkey's Paw_ about a cursed monkey's paw that grants its owner three wishes but corrupts them somehow. In it, a guy wishes for a bunch of money and gets it in the form of a pay off when his adult son is killed at work. His wife uses it to wish him back alive a few weeks later, and he returns in the dead of night, the eerie sound of of his knocking reverberating through the house like a ghostly moan. Though there was no mangled, undead body on the other side of his door, Lincoln felt the same thing the father in that story felt when he heard it: Soul freezing horror. His lungs withered and his heart hammered so hard against his ribs he was certain one would crack.

He knew, _knew_ with absolute certainty, _,_ that it was Lori come to confront him.

"Y-Yeah?" he called.

The knob shook, rattled, and rolled, then the door came open slowly like the entrance to a crypt being impossibly opened from the inside, rusty hinges creaking like the pained cry of a ghost in the night. Fingers curled around the edge, French tipped, then a face framed by blonde hair appeared.

Lori.

Her blue shadowed eyes flickered to him then away, a look of shame or disgust or both crossing her features and her pearl earrings swaying mournfully from side to side. "We need to talk," she said.


	5. Little Brother, Big Sister

Lori stood at the sink for a long time after the last dish was done, her hands splayed on the counter and her head bent - if you walked into the kitchen and saw her, you might be reminded of a Civil War genera leaning over to study a map with his advisors. _The rebels are moving up the river, sir. We can meet them at the headwaters with a forward pincer attack._ She wasn't pondering troop formations or rear assaults, but she _was_ dedicating every fiber of her being to a single goal, just like that long ago general, only he was focused on taking a town or a field, and she was focused on building herself up to face her brother.

Again.

The first time didn't count - she walked into the dining room, saw him, and froze up like a woman coming upon a gigantic spider, her heart sputtering to a halt and her muscles seizing. The look of dread and fear on his face brought tears to her eyes as she scrubbed the pan, scouring first stuck on batter and then nothing at all. He was _literally_ terrified of her, and why wouldn't he be? She did something to him last night, something awful and unforgivable. She still didn't know exactly _what_ that entailed, only that she molested him, like a pedophile.

As she washed the same dish over and over again, she started to wonder: How did it play out? Did she hurt him? Physically force him? Coerce him? She saw herself pinning him to the bed and looking down into his horrified face. _You're gonna fuck me, Linc, and you're gonna_ like _it._ Her eyes blazed with the fires of hell and the cold, knife-blade smile on her dark face sent shivers through her soul. She didn't think it happened that way, but she wasn't sure, and now the not knowing was tearing away at the pit of her stomach like a thousand tiny hooked fingers. She bowed her head, squeezed her eyes closed, and tried to call up a memory beyond the ones she woke with, those vague, flickering images of her biting his neck, clawing his skin, shaking as he stoked the embers in her stomach to a roaring fire, and then finally an earth-cracking explosion, but none came.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't know she had company until a plate clattered into the basin in front of her. She started and whipped her head around to find Lynn standing next to her; the younger girl's eyebrows were heavy with worry, her brown eyes muddled. "Lincoln's acting weird," she said, and the words hung in the air like a black cloud. Lori sighed and turned away, her eyes going to the dirty plate in the sink.

"You need to talk to him," Lynn urged.

She knew - she didn't want to, but she had to: She needed to apologize...and to find out what she did to him. "I will," she said with a sigh.

"Like, now," Lynn said.

Ice formed on the outside of Lori's heart and its chill crept through her chest and stomach. She wasn't one to procrastinate, if she had something to do she did it head-on, but with _this,_ she'd rather put it off until she absolutely had to deal with it. The only thing that stopped her from doing so, that lead her up the stairs like a woman toward doom, was Lincoln, her cute, sweet, loving little brother. She couldn't leave him simmering in torment, alone and afraid, unsure of whether or not she'd come back for more, dreading every sound, jumping at shadows, terrified to come out of his room lest she accost and drag him away. Lincoln had always been sensitive and a little timid, and for him the suspense must be terrible. She'd already hurt him enough, she refused to do it anymore.

When she reached his door, closed and foreboding, she took a deep breath and lifted her hand to knock, but couldn't bring herself to follow through. She loved him, and the prospect of seeing him in pain, ashen and trembly like he was in the dining room, made her sick, especially knowing _that it was because of her_. It would kill her, and she honestly didn't trust herself to not make it worse, not to take him in her arms and smother him with soft, tender kisses. _I'm sorry, Lincoln, I love you._ She saw herself with him, and the way she touched him, and how her lips lingered on his warm, sweet-smelling skin bespoke deviant, unsisterly feelings.

She hung her head and blinked back tears of shame, her heart throbbing, her body aching to feel the warm weight of him against it. What was wrong with her? He was in there dealing with God only knew what, and she was fantasizing about holding him like a lover, not a little brother. How fucking sick!

Well...she wouldn't...she'd go in there and act like the sister he needed.

Decided, she knocked and waited, the atmosphere growing suddenly tense. She could _feel_ him in there, his body stiff and his eyes wide. _Oh no, she's gonna do it again._

"Yeah?" he called, his voice shaky and muffled.

She started to reply, but took the knob in her hand instead, not realizing that she was shaking until she tried to turn it but jiggled it instead. Easy, Lori, relax. She turned it, pushed the door open, and gripped it as she poked her head in: Lincoln sat on the edge of the bed, rigid with fright. She darted her eyes away. "We need to talk," she said.

The air went out of the room, and Lincoln cast his gaze to his feet. "O-Okay."

For a moment Lori stood where she was, then she forced herself in and shut the door behind her, leaning against it when her knees went weak. He looked up at her, his eyes swirling with anxiety, and he looked so much like a scared little boy who'd been hurt by someone sworn to protect him that Lori broke down and started to cry, her chin lolling against her chest and her hand going to her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but a strangled sob came out instead, and she cried harder.

Through blurred eyes, she saw Lincoln's face crumple and his head hang. He looked so sad, so wounded, so confused, that Lori couldn't stop herself from going over and kneeling in front of him, the way he cringed sending a dagger blade of sorrow into the center of her heart. She reached out, hesitated, then laid her hand on his knee. She blinked away her tears and looked into his eyes; a single tear tracked down his cheek and Lori's stomach clutched. "I-I'm so sorry," she said, her voice a broken whisper. "I'm sorry."

Lincoln blinked as if in surprise. "Y-You didn't do anything," he said, "i-it was me." Water welled in his eyes and spilled down his face. "I-I raped you." He began to cry in earnest, and confusion filled Lori.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "I...I did that to _you_."

Why was he blaming himself? She was the one who did wrong, not him.

"No, you didn't," he said into his lap. "I went in your room last night because…" he trailed off and swallowed hard, and Lori gave his knee an instinctive and reassuring squeeze. "Because I...I wanted you."

Lori flinched as if slapped.

He looked up into her eyes, and in them she glimpsed raw, unadulterated _pain_. "The way you...you acted at the party...it-it turned me on."

At those words, Lori's heart started to race and her stomach quivered. He liked it? So much that he sought her out? She swallowed thickly.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Lori," he said, "but I liked it. I liked what we did." He face screwed up in misery and his shoulders hitched against his grief. Lori gaped stupidly, her hand limp on his knee and a roiling mass of emotions bubbling in her chest like the contents of a cauldron. Her mind went back to the night before, to one of the sole memories she had: Lincoln on top of her, his face inches above hers, the taste of his mouth on her lips and his body stroking hers, every thrust pushing her toward climax, and her core pinched.

Swallowing, she squeezed. "Linc…"

He pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes and sucked his lips in.

"Lincoln," she said, softening her tone. She cupped the side of his face and made him look at her, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

She took a deep breath. "I liked it too."

Lincoln's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open with an almost audible clink. A hot blush spread across her cheeks and she took his hand in hers. "I know it's wrong and it makes me feel like shit, but...but I enjoyed it, Linc, and I...I meant what I said about you." She threaded their fingers and smiled.

For a long time, he stared at her agape, then his hand fluttered tentatively to her cheek; his touch was soft, warm, and tender, and Lori leaned into it like a cat. "R-Really?" he asked uncertainly.

She hesitated. It wasn't lost on her how profoundly _wrong_ it was, and just on how many _levels_ it was wrong on; he was her little brother, they shared blood and DNA, their bond was closer to what a mother shares with a child, they were far enough apart in age that it was frankly weird: A seventeen year old messing with an eleven year old is pedo territory, right?

All of these thoughts and more swirled through her head like a black vortex, but even so, she found herself simply not caring.

Turning her head, she kissed his wrist and took his other hand. "Yes," she said.

He shocked her by leaning forward and kissing her, his soft lips brushing hers and his tongue slipping into her mouth. Her heart burst and she kissed him back, her hands going to his face and her fingertips softly caressing his flesh. He pulled his hand from her grasp and weaved his fingers through her hair as he deepened the kiss. Lori's heart slammed an unsteady beat and her center twinged in delightful anticipation. Getting slowly to her feet, their tongues sliding over one another, she pushed him back onto the bed and mounted him, unaware that she was moving, her mind given entirely over to sensation and her body leading her in its stead; her knees caged him and her back arched, butt lifting, their lips never breaking.

When she pulled back, they were both panting and blushing, a long, silvery ribbon of mingled drool connecting them like a bridge between hearts; they gazed deeply into each other's eyes, and Lori's stomach fluttered insistently. "Did you like that?" she asked.

"Yeah," Lincoln grinned.

She laughed and slid her hands under his shirt, his quivering flesh warm and firm under her palms. The front of his pants twitched, and Lori's body responded by dampening. She brushed the hem of his shirt up, tossed her hair, and placed a sizzling kiss against his stomach, her lips lingering and her nose drawing in his comforting scent. She giggled at the way his hips rocked and kissed him again, higher this time, her eyelids fluttering when he gently ran his fingers through her hair, his nails lightly grazing her scalp and sending a shudder of pleasure through her fevered body. She rolled her eyes up to him and trailed kisses down his stomach, her fingers kneading his skin like a playful kitten.

When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she grinned naughtily and tugged at them; the outline of his erection was clearly visible, warm and full and quivering with an excitement that matched her own. "Can I touch you, big brother?" she asked and batted her eyelashes.

Lincoln's eyes flashed and he nodded - he _liked_ being called big brother.

Smiling to herself, Lori undid the button, pulled down the zipper tab, and opened the flaps, his feral smell wafting into her nose and drawing an appreciative moan from the back of her throat. She flicked her eyes to his, then rubbed her hands over his bulge, squeezing and biting her bottom lip at the pangs it sent rippling through her core. She hooked her fingers in and pulled them down, freeing him.

Last night she was a pit of drunken need and didn't take the time to savor him...or to notice how big he was, and beautiful, his skin tight and blushing, his head leaking translucent fluid that dribbled down the side and over the strong cord at his base. The breath left her lungs in an exhalation of wonder, and her eyes widened slightly, lending her the appearance of a hungry woman standing before a Thanksgiving banquet. She met his eyes, and the desire she saw there drew her hand to it; she wrapped her fingers around and stroked slowly up. It was hot in her palm, burning, and slick too. Her heart skipped a few beats and Lincoln sighed, his cheeks blazing crimson.

"Do you like it when your little sister touches you?" she asked.

"Yes," he moaned.

Lori looked from his face to his rod, her mouth beginning to water - his heat, his smell, and his hitching breaths were intoxicating, and she wanted to taste him so bad it hurt. She brushed her hair behind her ear, leaned in, and skimmed her lips over his head, collecting his essence; it was salty on her tongue.

Still stroking, she took him into her mouth.

Lincoln sucked a gulp of air and squirmed under her; he leaked faster now, his precum mixing with her saliva and making her pant. She molded her tongue to his shaft and bobbed her head, his moans spurring her on; she went faster, her hands resting now on his stomach and her throat working furiously to handle all the sticky fluid sliding wetly down it. "Lori…" he sighed. His hands crept into hers, and she held tight. Faster, faster; her panties were soaked now and she shook with arousal. When she could stand it no longer, she spit him out, got to her knees, and pulled down her shorts, the fabric scraping her skin and sending goosebumps up and down her arms. Lincoln watched in suspense and she wiggled her hips and brushed them to her knees. She freed one leg, then the other, then kicked them aside; they and her underwear landed on the floor in a heap.

Next, she crossed her arms over her chest, pulled up her shirt, and threw it away. Now she was entirely naked before her big brother, his eyes touching her, caressing her, arousing her to the point where her head spun and her lubrication smeared the insides of her thighs.

Locking eyes with her brother, she crawled up between his legs and straddled him, his dick prying apart her lips and nestling against her. He put his hands on her hips and she bowed her back, her breasts pressing against his warm, bare chest and his head finding her opening as if on instinct alone. She stroked his forehead and placed a slow, sensual kiss on the tip of his nose. "I love you, Lincy," she purred.

"I love you too," he replied, and grinned. "Little sister." He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and brought her lips to his, claiming them as she sank herself onto him. They began to rock their bodies in harmony, his head raking her walls and prodding her limit, each thrust knocking a grunt loose from her throat. Resting her forearms on either side of his head, she broke away, tangled her fingers in his hair, and stared down at him, his narrowed eyes and red cheeks making him beautiful, but in a strong, masculine way.

Noticing the way she admired him, he favored her with that cocky smile of his, and her heart filled with affection; she peppered loving kisses across his face and rocked faster, suddenly wanting, needing, to feel him swell and cum inside her, to take him as deep as one can take another person. "Are you close?" she asked.

"Kind of," he panted, "I'm holding back -"

"Don't," she said, "let yourself go~"

DIgging his fingernails into her hips, he thrusted up, his dick spearing the opening of her womb. She felt her end starting to gather and squeezed her eyes closed, concentrated on the feeling of him inside of her, on the heat between them, on the feeling of his dick expanding, spreading her. "Lori.." he moaed.

Molten lead fired against her cervix, and she gasped, sweeping him into a tight embrace and hugging him tight to her breasts. Her orgasm tore loose and intensified with each burning squirt Lincoln pumped into her core; her body convulsed and her teeth chattered, biting off his name, which she repeated again and again as she rolled her hips against him, drinking every last drop of his seed and begging for more. Beneath her, Lincoln arched his back and bared his teeth as he shot one final blast, his fingers rhythmically opening and closing around her fleshy hips; she held him and buried her nose in his hair, drawing his clean smell into her nose as her body fell still and the fire in her loins cooled to a bed of glowing embers. Lincoln gave a spasmodic twitch, and Lori tightened her arms protectively around him. "I agree," she said and giggled.

She shifted off of him, purring at the feeling of his hot seed sloshing in her stomach, and stretched out on her side. She took him in her arms and pulled him close, cuddling him like a cute stuffed rabbit, their tacky bodies sticking together. She squeezed her legs closed to trap her precious Lincoln inside, and kissed the back of his neck. His hands found hers, and their fingers intertwined.

For a long time, neither of them spoke as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Drowsiness stole over Lori, his body heat and the soothing sound of his breathing lulling her. She hugged him closer, and for some reason, the closeness and intimacy they shared made her want to open up to him, to let him into the deepest center of her heart and mind the way she had her body. "I've always wanted an older sister," she said and squeezed his hand. "Being the oldest is hard. I feel like everyone relies on me to be, like, a second mom, and it's a lot of pressure. I never really had someone _I_ could rely on, or go to for advice, or, like, have help _me_ with things."

She faltered like a woman walking on ice, and Lincoln gave her hand an encouraging squeeze, which made her smile. "I know it's kind of crazy, you've always been like a big brother or something. You're always there for me and give me advice and make me feel good." A warm, tingling sensation flooded her chest as she spoke, and her lips were drawn to his bare shoulder; she kissed deeply, lazily. "I don't have a big brother," she said, then smiled and gave him a tender hug, "but I'm _more_ than happy with my little brother."

Lincoln lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed each one of her knuckles, the tickle of his wet lips making her shiver pleasantly.

"And I love my big sister," he declared.

* * *

 **I wrote my first Loudcest ship,** _ **A Crush on Their Brother,**_ **in June 2017. It was Luancoln and I enjoyed writing it far more than I thought I would - romance, drama, and, indeed, sex, were not things that I wrote about often before, and had very little interest in writing. After finishing, I decided to ship Lincoln with every one of his sisters in a one-on-one set-up. Most of those stories were light and fluffy and focus on the genesis of the relationship they explored, and most have sequels that carried the story forward. This, too, will most likely have a sequel, and it will deal with Lori and Lincoln trying to hide their relationship from their family and dealing with other challenges, like their existing relationships with Bobby and Ronnie Anne respectively. It will be called** _ **Sober Hearts.**_

 **Also of note, with this story (I disregard** _ **There For You,**_ **which was published under AberrantScript's name), I have fulfilled my goal of shipping Lincoln with every one of his sisters except for Lisa and Lily. I have a Lisacoln story written, I just need to post it, and Lily...well...the whole point of these ships was to work with the canon characters at their canon ages, so I'm kind of stuck. I was going to do a little something humorous about canon age Lily trying to woo Lincoln...and of course it doesn't work. I don't know if I will, though. Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope to see you next time.**


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